


Six Thousand Years, And You're Still Too Fast For Me

by iamanidhwal



Category: Good Omens, Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale ranting, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Clueless Crowley, Heavy Angst, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Reckless Crowley, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-09 23:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20518232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamanidhwal/pseuds/iamanidhwal
Summary: Aziraphale was the type of angel who wrote his thoughts and feelings down whenever it started to overwhelmed him.It's only happened around ten times in the course of six thousand years. All of them after meeting with a certain demon, Crowley, and their interesting interactions in between points of history.----OR: Aziraphale's thoughts and feelings about Crowley over the course of six thousand years.





	Six Thousand Years, And You're Still Too Fast For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Lookie lookie who's getting into the Good Omens fandom <3
> 
> This is going to be a diary/rant style fic. Aziraphale has so much to say, and of course he's a flustered little ray of sunshine everytime snake-eyes here is mentioned uwu
> 
> It also details (what I believe to be) Aziraphale's impressions, thoughts, and general worries about Crowley ;n;

* * *

**_4004 BC, Garden of Eden - The Banishment _ **

I met you today, in what seems to be a very important turning point in history. 

Well at least, it seemed that way. To me, anyway. Rather anti-climatic, to say the least. I don't know what would happen, really. You tempted them, I saw you in the Garden, but only after the deed was done, and Adam and Eve had gone to process what they had just discovered after eating the Forbidden Fruit. I cast you out, and you laughed in my face -- well, _hiss _at my face, really, because you were in your snake form -- before you buggered off to the hole you came from.

(_Crawley_, was it? _Crawly_? How does one even write your name? And shouldn't it be something like Slithery, or something of the sort? It's not really a crawl, insomuch as it is a _slither, _so the latter would've been a better name -- but I digress.)

Aziraphale. My name is Aziraphale. Although you looked like you knew that already.

(How, though, I am not inclined to ask, as I'm very sure I will never interact with you again! And if it came to that point, I would expressly like to imply that I am _not _looking forward to it. Never in my existence will I even _want _to interact with a demon, and that includes you.)

I oversee the Eastern Gate, as you well know. Where the... _The Slip _happened - where Adam and Even slipped away from the Garden before dusk, into the great Unknown Deserts beyond the Garden's walls. 

And yet, as we watched the First Man and Woman walk away in the hot sand, you've exchanged many words as though I was a friend. Or merely a spectator. An ear for you to express your plights? I confess I cannot understand what you must have been thinking, as I turn the memory of our meeting over and over in my mind. Were you chatting me up because you were underestimating me? Did you notice the absence of my flaming sword from my side even before you verbally pointed it out, and thought I was of no threat to you, weaponless and empty-handed?

(Foolish of you, really, and, dare I say, _ballsy.)_

I found it highly amusing.

But your words, oh your words... You, you are The Serpent, the living embodiment of Temptation. Adam and Eve were the example of that! And you dare plant a seed of doubt in my mind about the practicality, the morality, the black-and-whiteness of the situation? Talking about overreaction from a first offence. That's rich, coming from someone who has fallen from Heaven for participating in Lucifer's Rebellion!

And yet, even as I write that, I feel a pang of guilt and remorse. I know you won't even read this, won't even know. And I have a sudden urge to apologize. (I'm sorry)

It's... hard. Being an angel. Knowing of The Great Plan, but not anything _within _it, and being stationed in the frontlines of a show you were supposed to oversee every detail of. It's hard, to not be attached or at least feel a little sympathy towards the people you're playing caretaker for! Blessed Eve, bearing the First Ever Son of Man (who they've named Cain in the time of my writing).

And yet your words have stayed. In my mind they revolve as I tend to the Garden until God will station me elsewhere. I believe I have always had the same doubts, but after meeting you, I cannot trust myself. You are Temptation, and you might have squeezed little ideas in my mind for the purpose of questioning God's Great Plan.

You and your lot Downstairs are a measly little bunch that I can't for the life of me even fathom of bringing my guard down around. So I won't. And I shan't. You've brought up many great points, and yet I didn't feel as though I was supposed to agree with you. For Heaven's sake, I'm an angel, you're a demon. To agree with you and your sentiments was tantamount to willingly stepping into hellfire; something I am most inclined _not _to do.

I've written down most of what I can begin to formulate in my mind. But there's this one question of yours that I have yet to process. About you accidentally doing good, and me accidentally doing bad... As an angel, God has given clear, cut-and-dry instructions. "Don't eat this", "Don't do that", and it's not without any consequence, the nature of which are graphic at the very least. There is nothing _forgivable _for a sin, no second chances. You follow instructions or leave, and that is the status quo, in Heaven and on Earth.

For you to suggest me having done a mistake, or for you to unknowingly bring about a part of God's Plan, well... that would suggest a grey area between the blacks and whites of the world, wouldn't it? It's a laughable thought, isn't it? There can't be grey areas. There's only black, and white.

Good, and bad.

Right, and wrong.

Angel, and demon.

There can be no grey side. Because, if it does exist... then it would be awfully, terribly complicated to operate within two increasingly-polarized sides such as Heaven and Hell. And frankly, I don't think God is one for complications.

Do you?

* * *

** _ 3004 BC, Mesopotamia - The Flood _ **

It seems as though running into you is inevitable.

Of course, I suppose I should have foreseen it. I_ am _the one stationed on Earth, to keep you wily demons at bay and report Upstairs to the likes of archangels like Gabriel about the goings-on in Ground Zero, or No Man's Land, or what have you. And _you, _of course, are the personification of Temptation, and wouldn't that operate perfectly within the realms of confusion, insanity, and a shaky sense of morality and judgment? All those characteristics are so wonderfully_ human_.

(Sometimes I wonder... if God loves Humanity so much, why would She design to be easily beguiled by your charms and seduction for greed and power?)

Your relationship with them, however, is fascinating to the say the very least. I've realized this now -- you don't just follow humans wherever they go, off for their next great adventure, or misadventure -- but you're also the one giving chase to them. Their fates, the consequences they have to face, all have to do with how they answer to you.

It's as if you've made the world dance with the slightest wiggle of your fingertips, humans attached to your fingers with fine little strings. Corner them into making a decision. Wind them up, watch them go.

And yet, you've shown me, perhaps unconsciously, some very _angelic _things -- no doubt, I saw you voice out, with compassion, and mercy, as you questioned me about the moral justification of The Great Flood that had wiped out the locals. I saw the lack of conviction in your face when I tried to supply you with information. Your concern for the children was surprising, and oddly touching. I've never seen a demon with moral exceptions. I thought you lot would have a more "free-for-all" mindset.

(Perhaps I'm rude for generalizing, in which case I apologize). 

I've voiced the same concern, as well, with Gabriel, and he imparted with me the information that this was merely a show of God's power and strength, and the importance of a punishment of this scale and magnitude. But She will have to prove Her love for humanity and the world, as well, as She had saved Noah and his family, as well as twos of all animal species in the land. Well, almost all. Those unicorns were such delightful creatures, it's a pity the last one had to die all alone. I haven't seen their species since, matter-of-fact.

But back to my thoughts at hand... again, with your incessant Questioning of the Great Plan! I am reminded, yet again, of our conversation in the Garden. How this could be seen as overreaction to such a simple mistake. It was plain in your eyes and in your face, what you wanted to say. "If God loves Humanity so much, why go out of Her way to destroy almost everything and rebuild from scratch?"

It's a question I have no answer to, I'm afraid. I have tossed and turned in Heaven, as we waited for the Forty Days and Forty Nights to pass for the Flood to abate. It all seems too much of an effort to do, and I have to _acquiesce _that you _may _have a point. But that's the difference between you and I, I suppose -- an angel has better connection to God than a demon cast out of Heaven for insubordination and rebellion.

That is why I still hold firm to the belief that all of this is justified. But I would be pulling my wing off if I said that I have no doubts in my mind whatsoever. I would be lying if I said that I slept soundly for a fortnight as I imagined the screams of the men, women, and children that were left by the Ark. All those innocent animals, thrown under the wing of God's wrath which was only supposedly directed at humans.

I don't know if this is a plan for you, but I will have to do my very best to avoid future interactions with you, as these have proven to be a generally mentally taxing activity for me and perhaps no more than an amusement and a passing fancy for you.

Thou shalt not prevail, foul demon!

Addendum: After much consideration, I've come to facts that you, a demon, showing kindness and concern for Earthly life just proves that there might possibly _be _a grey area in the grand scheme of things. The thought of it complicates the world. _You _have complicated how _I _see the world. Take it however you want.

* * *

** _ 33 AD, Golgotha - The Crucifixion _ **

_Crowley._ _Crowley. Crowley._

You've changed your name. Which is something I've been thinking about, deep in the back of my mind. I've written about it, perhaps even jokingly, after the very first time we've met. It... suits you. The name, not what it once implied about you as The Serpent in the Garden. 

I'll have to admit, it was particularly trying for me to watch God's Son die at the hands of Humans, and with such brutality as well. I will never understand their longing for enduring pain and suffering, of prolonging death. I don't know why God's Plan has to be this way, drawn out for hours and hours until Jesus died well into the afternoon. I stayed as long as I could, the crowds were whispering obscenities and harsh remarks, wild rumors about Jesus, before and after you left. It infuriated me, I assure you, especially with their false claims of spreading lies and deceit when Jesus has only been known to preach kindness and compassion.

God has given me strict orders not to interact with Him in any way, shape, or form. Neither am I to even cross paths with Him. I don't know if He will sense that I am not human, as those around Him are. I still feel bad, and I've been drawn to watch over Him even when it was completely unnecessary.

When I asked you if you ever met Him, you said yes. You said you showed him all the kingdoms of the world, even as you waved it off with the excuse that he was but a carpenter and had limited knowledge of the world beyond here. I tried to hide my awe, and I think I might have succeeded, because you didn't realize. You still _don't _realize, do you?

You gave the son of God a gift. The gift of knowledge, much like the 'Gift' of knowledge you've brought about to Adam and Eve in the Garden.

But this had no payback, no consequence in your demonic ledger, I would say. So... Why? Why did you do that? Out of fancy? Just a whim? Was it pity?

I will never understand you, Crowley. But perhaps I can admit that I have taken an interest in knowing you. You are a very complex being, demon aside. I shall endeavor to make your acquaintance next we meet... Merely to sate my curiosity.

(And something, something about cats about the matter.)

* * *

** _ 41 AD, Rome - The Unexpected Meeting _ **

When last I've written about you, I have sworn to myself to make your acquaintance. I didn't expect it to be so soon.

(Of course, eight years have passed, which is long considering the span of human lives, but we are of angel stock, are we not? Well, _fallen _angel to be more precise for you.)

Rome. Ah, never would I expect to bump into you in _Rome,_ but there you were. I was merely passing my time, as I told you a little later, playing a board game when I heard your voice ordering for libation. I _had _to check if it was you, and there you were. I had to double-check, because your long hair was gone and it now sits atop your head in curls, with a dark wreath around it.

(I would make a comment about it looking like a darker, gloomier version of a halo, but thought better of it.) 

You might have noticed I was a bit nervous when I sat down next to you uninvited, trying to keep the conversation going. It did take me aback when you said... what you said. I apologize, it must have been very callous of me to ask if you were "still a demon" (although I don't know why, out of all the species in God's universe, would you be an aardvark if you were not what you are. I would have thought you would be a snake, keep the motif, but yet again I digress). You looked stressed, and perhaps more than a little drunk, and so I just joined you.

I'll have to apologize again for the next slip of the tongue, concerning temptation. Albeit mine was about food, and oysters, not the kind about greed and lust as your lot are wont to do. Still, even wearing those small glasses (why _did _you decide to wear them, anyway?) I could feel your heated stare behind it, and I thought it best to shut up.

But I do have to agree on what past Aziraphale has thought -- that you are a very complex being. I recall fondly our conversation over at the Petronius' restaurant, over the oysters I've... _tempted? I should stop using that word... _persuaded you to try. I am so very happy you did. And it might have been the alcohol in your system, but I did appreciate your loose lips as you started a conversation that did not seem to end.

I would have thought you were going to try and complain about God's Ineffable Plan yet again, or debate about the lengths that God has Humans go to in the greater scheme of things, seeing what happened with Jesus right after His Crucifixion. But... you didn't. You merely stated about everything you've done, minor temptation jobs here and there, and asked me about what I do to bide my time around Earth. It didn't really strike me as an offense to _share _some of my adventures, as well. And I took it as a good sign from God that She didn't smite me there and then. So I shared. 

And... you laughed. It was a pleasing noise, so foreign from you. I've only ever seen you sneer, or glare, or hiss, as though the world was a problem seemingly too complicated for anyone to fix. And yet here you are, living in the thick of things, in the middle of God's Plan, with the Humans She so loved, recounting stories as if they were travel fancies from abroad. 

I admit, I enjoyed the company. It's not everyday that I get to interact with someone who is both so in touch and detached with the world we live in, as I am. I can't really say anything to Gabriel and the others that doesn't sound relevant to any reports. Nor can I consort with a demon, of course. Well, maybe except you. 

_Crowley. _Today was nice. 

(And I appreciated you paying for the wine and food. You didn't have to, really.)

* * *

** _ 537 AD, Kingdom of Wessex - The Stand-Off _ **

Heaven's Bells, if I had known that you were the one standing inside the infamous black suit of armor, I would have initiated contact earlier to discuss this.

Primarily because of the (presumably) dozens of human ears listening in, hiding in the fog and the brush.

I didn't know that we'd meet again, in _Wessex, _of all places. And here we are, two knights in a stand-off in a _terribly damp place. _(Now that you've mentioned it, I _did _realize that it was awfully damp everywhere. It has irked me for the longest time and I had no clue as to why!) And to think that we were both trying our very hardest, in the same kingdom, doing the exact opposite of each other's abilities and, surprisingly, with the same amount of seriousness.

I say this because I have reviewed my progress reports with Gabriel in my time with the Kingdom of Wessex. I've found that no matter how hard I tried, there was no significant margin of increase of good in the area, except for the lingering peace that King Arthur has achieved. It was the status quo, of course, but my angelic intervention had nothing to do with it (try as I might to help). 

And I've discovered that you were in the same place, cancelling me out with the exact same force. And from the look on your face when you've said you were riling up the people with dissent, and discord, it must've felt increasingly frustrating to see that one's actions were doing nothing to incite one side against the other. We've been cancelling each other out, for God knows how long. Efforts wasted, hours of studying under candlelight futile.

But the one thing that really set me off was your... your... _suggestion. _For me, to _lie_ about my actions here on Earth to my superiors upstairs. And for you to say the same thing? I would expect nothing less of you! You are a demon, after all, and there was a brief moment in my mind when it occurred to me that you could have been trying to fake a way out for me so you could take over the proverbial board and, without an opponent, secure a win. It would be in your inherent nature to convince me to back off and stand in inaction as you double-crossed your word and accomplished what you've originally set out to do.

And yet, you didn't. You made another excuse altogether. _No one will know. _

Of _course,_ someone will know. _God _would know! There is nothing in this universe that She has created that She cannot see! There is _nothing _that She cannot know. God is ineffable. 

But... I'll have to admit, even in writing, that I have considered the possibility. It's all so futile, wouldn't you say? Everywhere I go to perform new miracles or spread peace and love, there you are, rearing your head to cancel out what I've done.

(Or perhaps I'm the one doing the cancelling. Angels are supposed to thwart demons, after all, and not the other way around.)

Here you are, once again, planting seeds of doubt into my mind. I sometimes wonder if you miss the Garden, given your affinity to sow, plant, and grow.

Indignant as I'll ever be, I still stand by the fact that I have neither made heads nor tails of you, Crowley.

* * *

** _ 1601, The Globe Theatre - The Play _ **

I have met you countless other times between this year and the last I've written about you, but I have not been as overwhelmed as I am today.

I leave for Edinburgh first thing in the morning, as per our... _Arrangement._

To this day, I still have no idea how you've managed to convince me to say yes to a plan I've been vehemently against for centuries. Yet here I am, one-half of a complicit agreement. What was that word you used to justify this...?

Right, _practicality. _It was _practical _for just one of us to go there. 

The night I agreed, I remember that you had told me this. That we were of basically the same stock, angel stock, and that we had roughly the same abilities. "The difference," I pointed out, "was that I am an angel, and you are a demon."

You gave me a look of mild annoyance and said that was your point; that the only difference was where our loyalties have to lie. "_Have_ to lie," you said, "But not necessarily." 

And you pointed out many instances wherein you have done _arguably-good _instead of straight-up bad. I mostly sat in silence as you made your argument. And I should have thought that my face showed I was still mildly unconvinced despite the facts you've laid out. So you gave me a choice. "I'll take Greenwich this weekend. If I do something out of line, then you can admonish me as you like." 

Perhaps it was the wine that you brought, or your tenacity to keep pressing the subject, but I relented. You were gone the next morning, off to Greenwich where I had to do a minor miracle and you had to sow a little discord in the public market. I cleared my schedule for the following days, as I waited anxiously for any news, or any rumors, any admonishments from Management. Any new visitors from Upstairs, any crackle of electricity from up above that would signal God's anger. I made it so that one wrong move on your end wouldn’t be the end of the world; that I’d be able to leave at a moment’s notice to rectify a mistake.

But nothing came. Only you, on horseback, several days later, with a satisfied smirk on your face.

And perhaps that was that, that was what made me agree. To help out when necessary, to cover things for the other. For the sake of practicality. For the sake of efficiency.

(And if you have to ask – no, the books that you haven given me every time you come back from doing a favor did _not _sway me, not one bit. But thank you, nonetheless. I was deeply touched. I hope the pastries I have bought you in return have been appreciated, as well.)

You have thrust me into a grey area… or so I would like to believe. But in reality I can only admit to myself (after weeks of thought and pacing and tea) that I have willingly stepped into this middle ground of my own volition. I am inasmuch trouble as I am for me to do _arguably-bad _things as you are to do _arguably-good _deeds.

Our little exchange in The Globe Theatre was something borne out of frustration, primarily because of a lack of communication on the side of Gabriel and the other archangels in Heaven. Surely, there must be something amiss. Surely there must be something that has already tipped them off with what we have been doing for decades now. Surely they haven’t been abandoning me on Earth.

And so I was miffed, when you said we were both to be in Edinburgh on the same week. That we’d have to turn to the Agreement once more. I had been feeling a little paranoid, I am afraid, and I know that telling you this you’d blow it off. It seems as though you tread on sure footing with the other demons down below. I am sorry I cannot say the same otherwise. If you knew Gabriel – well, I assume that maybe you do, so I won’t elaborate. 

_Nobody has to know. _

It sends a tingle through my body, a pleasant one. Or so says my heart. My brain is working overdrive to try and not actively think about it too much. Tell me, dear... would this even count as rebellion?

If so, why does it all feel so… so _exhilarating?_

* * *

** _ 1793, Paris – The Execution _ **

Like any other being in the universe that God has made, I believe that angels also have the capability to make… well… not mistakes, but – what’s a better word for it –… _heavy oversights. _

In hindsight, I should not have gone on a whim to Paris, but can you blame me? Thousands of years of meeting together in clandestine places, to wind down and discuss the many events happening on our shared and separate corners of the world. You, out of all the angels and demons and people on Earth, are the only one to know that I am weak against pastries.

But mistak-- _heavy oversights _have been made. Maybe two. Or maybe a dozen. Like overlooking the warnings about Paris at this time… the odd stares I had from the boat as I said I was going to Paris, and their eyes seemed to alight, as if to say, “Dressed as _that?” _Perhaps I have sent the wrong message, because I had a woman run to me as I was making my way down the docks, frantic in her pursuit, and told me not to go any further.

(Bless her, Lord, for she has a heart pure of gold.)

I haven’t even taken all of a hundred steps when I was pulled aside, gagged, and hit on the head with a very blunt metal object.

And the next thing I knew, I woke up slumped against the wall of a dark, damp cell where you found me a little later. I had manacles on my wrists, chained to the wall, and all I could hear was the raucous cheers of the Parisian public, and the repeated falling of the blade from the guillotine so visible from where I sat.

You could not have arrived at a more opportune time, as I was trying (and, admittedly, horribly failing) at pleading my innocence to Jean-Claude the executioner (may his soul rest in peace). You must have seen my face, wrought with anxiety as I already was with trying to appeal to the humanity of the French.

And so you also must have seen the raw emotion of gratitude and relief that flashed on my face when I heard your voice, felt your presence, and seen you casually lounging against the bars of the prison that held me.

I knew you would be annoyed – your dear Aziraphale, making one mistake after another, his brain filled with the different fancies that can come to life from the different outcomes of mixing flour and eggs. 

(It _did _cross my mind that you might have been annoyed that an angel has fallen to the sweet temptations concocted by humans, and not of demons. Is it true, even in the very slightest? I would have a very good laugh if it were, my dear.)

I admit, my stomach fell when I heard that you got a commendation for your demonic acts on Earth, and, seeing as you were in Paris, put two and two together and thought that you were to be blamed for this debauchery. It settled, somewhat, when you reassured me that it wasn’t you who did this, and it was a monstrosity only humans are capable of. And to think that Humans could stoop so low... it makes me shiver.

(You’ll remember, I took it up with you again during our conversation over crêpes and the _pain au chocolat _I really like. Did you remember what you told me? You said, “I may be a demon, angel, but prolonged suffering is such a painfully _human _thing.” And I have to agree, sadly.)

And although you’ve forbidden me to say it, you wouldn’t know or be angry if I did it in writing:

My dear Crowley, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for saving me. You didn’t have to, and I know you’ve risked saving an _angel, _of all beings, for the safety provisions that you enjoy from Hell. And yet, you did, anyway.

I don’t know if you did so out of the Arrangement, or if I’m reading too much into it, but if I didn’t know better, I would have thought that you and I could be more than just passing acquaintances. I can say that now, can I? Centuries have passed with relative peace and quiet from both our sides that, I believe, I can consider it without having too much guilt rack my entire system.

But perhaps I am reading into it, and that you just did so for the Arrangement. “Lend each other a hand when necessary.” That _is _one of our most basic tenets in our little agreement.

No matter. What happened is what happened. I was in trouble, and you saved me. That is what happened, and I am thankful for you, my dear. Even if you won’t accept my gratitude, I hope you felt it from my treat of lunch at the Latin Quarter.

And yes, I know that deep down you doubt my excuse of not being able to save myself out of fear from a strongly-worded admonishment from Gabriel. You never brought it up, but I could see it from the lines on your face and the subtle squint in your eyes through your darkly-colored lenses.

(As for the truth on the matter, I’ll keep it to myself. It’s not much of a secret, but it is mine to keep.)

* * *

** _ 1862, St. James Park – The Favor _ **

This is probably the first time in the thousands of years that we have been friends that I am wholly, inexplicably _upset _with you.

Are you thinking straight? What has gotten you paranoid? What is going with you? These questions keep circling my head as I recount the moment you handed me a torn slip of paper in St. James Park.

If I were lesser surprised and lesser inclined to care about the murmurs of the general public strolling about, I would have slapped you.

I will repeat, I will _absolutely not aid you _in your quest to _actively destroy yourself._

Crowley, my dear, I don’t know what’s going on. Why haven’t you told me anything? All those nights that I’ve invited you to my shop to while the hours away, partake in leisurely activities around London to get away from our duties, why haven’t you said something? Has Downstairs given you a warning, or worse, an ultimatum? Have they threatened you with obliteration? Have they told you to stay away from me?

It is not your nature at all for you to be so… so _uncertain _about things. You always were so cool, and confident. What has gotten you shaken, my dear?

It unsettles me greatly to see you like this. 

And you invite me to St. James Park, to what I assumed was a favor to ask. I assumed it was our coincidental assignments in Swindon at the time. When you handed me the paper asking you for, essentially, a suicide pill… I felt my heart stop for a second, felt my limbs grow cold.

It felt like the world has suddenly ceased to move, and, for a brief moment, I saw everything fade at the edges. I had to look at you, _really look at you, _to discern if this was one of the rare dreams I have when I indulge myself for a nap.

Your face was unreadable, as if there was a mask. I hated that there was nothing in your face that alluded to any threat to you. Nothing to justify why you needed to be in possession of Holy Water, the one thing that regular demons tend to shy away from.

Crowley, my dear, my friend… I felt hurt. I felt betrayed. I felt upset. And I felt scared.

Hurt, because you wouldn’t tell me what was going on with you.

Betrayed, that you didn’t consider myself enough of a friend to confide in me.

Upset, that it has gotten to that point that you were asking for a last resort solution.

And scared… because I felt helpless. Helpless to save you. Helpless to aid you. Helpless in a sense that I am clueless, that you had to shoulder the burden of our Arrangement when it possibly came under fire without me knowing. 

I was scared, utterly terrified that I have read you wrong in all our years together. Was this cool, confident demeanor of yours just a façade? Have you been hiding a deep sense of shame, depression? Have I misread your confidence and brazen attitude for a silent cry for help? Is this why you act in wild abandon, never caring about whether you get discorporated or not? Have I misjudged you all this time?

Crowley, I am your friend. I have considered you as such. Why can’t you do the same to me?

I will not help you if you want to go out in a blaze of fire. Holy Water could _destroy _you. I don’t know what kind of plan you have in motion. You tell me this Holy Water is for insurance. Do you intend to drink it when the hounds come bounding to your door? Do you plan to bathe in it once you hear the door unexpectedly ring? Will you douse yourself with it before the likes of other demons could take you out?

I told you, or at least _tried _to tell you, through the haze of confusion and upset that suddenly overwhelmed me that afternoon. I tried to tell you that I can help. I was asking you to share the burden.

Instead what came out was a sentence you misconstrued. “Do you know what trouble I’d be in if they knew I’d been _fraternizing_?”

I had meant for it to be something that conveyed, “If this Arrangement goes down, I will sink with you. It takes two for this to work, and you shouldering it alone will simply not do.” I had meant it like this. That no matter what, I will keep this Arrangement as far from eyes of both Heaven and Hell as possible, because I _know _our agreement. It will be a column of hellfire that awaits me if they find out, and I am in no less a precarious situation here than you are. We stand on either side of a plank over a grand canyon, and one misstep can be our downfall. I tried to tell you that I am in no way about to sacrifice what we currently have for the possibility of _atonement._

I had meant it to be friendly, and yet you looked incensed. Annoyed. Offended.

In hindsight, it was not the right sentence to say. And a series of miscommunication continued. That you had other Angels at your disposal, on your rolodex of calling cards or what have you, to help you. (Which I highly doubted.)

But the words you spat after me had lodged into my heart so deeply, like barbed wire against raw meat.

“I don’t need you.”

And in the heat of the moment, anger boiled up over the feeling of upset, and I had screamed back that the feeling was mutual.

I left, in a huff, grateful that you could not see the emotions boiling down. I barely made it to my shop in time before the waterworks started. It was all so overwhelming, and the thought of running back to St. James just to make sure you were okay had nearly possessed my legs and driven me forward. But the face that you made as I left you held me back. What would make you hate me more? For me to run away, or for me to run back? Indecision was what kept me from doing anything rash, or doing anything at all, really. And there I stayed, in my shop, for weeks on end.

(Inconsolable, even if I had picked up _Canterbury Tales _to keep me distracted.)

I had heard that you had skipped town the very next day after we met.

I didn’t know what to make of it. I blamed myself, for not realizing that you were in pain. That you were feeling the ground shake beneath the very soles of your feet, and couldn't be there for you as an option to hold onto.

I’m sorry, Crowley.

I’m sorry I failed you.

And I’m sorry I had to fail you again, to keep you from the possibility of self-destructing.

(If you hate me… then I might have deserved that.)

* * *

** _ 1941, London – The Deus Ex Machina _ **

Ask yourself, dear Crowley: Have you not grown bored of saving me at every turn?

For, you see, another mistake has been made on my part. You always _did _call me naïve, obsessively so. You said it was the angel in me. “You’re too trusting, too caring. Too caught up in the sunshine of the world, without noticing the dark crevices underneath.”

(I really must say, you should become a writer. Don’t think I’ve not noticed that Shakespeare took your line, word for word, for _Antony and Cleopatra. _I am still incensed!)

Well, it seems as though luck has tried to test me in every which way. Even though my shop’s fame has taken hold of the Fuhrer’s attention, I tried tackling matters with my own hands. I must admit, I probably have been swept away by so many stories I have heard from my associates in the British Intelligence, and thought perhaps I could help them out.

(It’s awfully fun to play spy, especially in such a dangerous setting! I know you’ve been quite a formidable figure in the Underground – pun intended – scene, and would imagine you sneaking in between lines of power to try and change the tides of war. Do you usually feel giddy when you've put your hand in such a powerful position?)

There I was, to deliver my first edition books on different prophecies to the Fuhrer. And there I was, in a matter of minutes, being duped and trained a gun at for the very sin of _naiveté. _Again, another major oversight on my part, for believing in Captain Rose Montgomery (who, apparently, was Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt all along). Had you been there with me, I imagine you would have seen this deception from a mile away.

And I was cornered, because this wasn’t supposed to go like this. The plan had been foiled, pathetically so, that even now I am heavily embarrassed at my pitiful excuse of playing with fire. With Fraulein Greta’s pistol pointed at me, faced with the threat of discorporation and the loss of important books to human evil, all I could think of was you, as you had come to my aid the last minute in Paris. Of how you'd admonish me, or of you in this very situation, and how, as Crowley so does, you would talk yourself out of the situation.

And, as if God were listening to me, you were there, nearly dancing down the main aisle as though burned by hot coals. It must have felt like that, what with the way you were acting. What were you even _thinking? _A demon, going into consecrated ground, into a _church _of all places? 

But with your appearance, you bought us time, and you rescued us. You rescued _me_, once again, from the trap that humans have sprung. Without a second thought. Without care to the damage, without care that you were whittling down from the forces of evil you were supposed to be in, just to save me.

Not only that, but you thought of the books. The _books. _The books that I, myself, have cared for all these hundreds of years. The books that I have sworn never to sell, as with every other book in my shop. The books I made into bait for German Nazis. The books that I immediately forgot about the second I saw you in pain but trying to hide it, just long enough for you to pull me out of yet another royal screw-up of my own doing.

Even on the ride back home, I didn’t say anything. I thought it wise not to show any gratitude towards you, as you might have hissed at me the same words you said in Paris. I could only think so much, you know.

Dear Crowley, what must run through your mind every time a thought of me crosses it? Am I a burden? Was that all I was to you? And yet, after all I've said and done, and after all the times I've failed you when you needed me most, you don’t hesitate in swooping in and carrying me off to safety in the last minute.

(I have thought, many times, that for a demon, you’re angelic side still shone through. I also thought that you would have thrown one of your very expensive shoes at me for ever insinuating it.)

At this point, what can I say? The world is at war, Crowley. Surely you must have thought that the absence of an Angel like me through discorporation would have ensured more years of strife, something that Downstairs would very much be proud of.

And yet… you decided to save me.

Thousands of years I have known you, Crowley… and you are still as complex as ever. I wonder, sometimes, if you will ever give me a chance to understand you. Would it be so bad to? I have written of you countless times, more than I have ever thought I would do when I first met you. You’ve become a constant in my life here on Earth, and I… would not know what to do.

Your mind is an enigma to me, and everything about you is shrouded in mystery ever since St. James. I sometimes ask myself whether you were drawing me in, purposefully or not, but that was never the case, is it? I walk voluntarily, towards trouble -- towards _you_\-- every time.

I wonder, sometimes, whether consciously or not you think that by shutting me out of this, you would save me? That you, Crowley, demon- no… _fallen angel… _would bear the cross for the both of us, because there is no worse fate than being a demon from Hell.

(I beg of you, for this instance, if this is the case… do not try and save me... Please.)

* * *

** _ 1967, Soho – The Culmination _ **

Hundreds of years ago, you once told me that the walls have ears. Or that the trees have ears, and ducks have ears as well.

My dear, _London _is not what it looks like. It is a city, true, but it is as good as a sentient being, with a pulse of its own, veins underground, and eyes and ears all over.

I have heard many distressing rumors from where I am situated in Soho, and I have tried my utmost to distract you. From increasingly frequent invitations, to favors, to surprise visits, I have thought of nothing else but to derail _your _great plan. 

And yet, somehow, I’ve failed. In the light of it all, I’ve heard that you’ve assembled, quite boldly, a heist. On a church. In the middle of London.

Had I been in doubt these past few decades that you were remotely suicidal, hearing this tidbit has given me solid footing and evidence that you are truly a madman at work, toiling away to machinate his own demise.

Crowley, you are not _foolish. _You are a demon of Hell, the Serpent that tempted Adam and Eve out the Garden. And before that, you were an angel, serving our Lord in the Great Realms of Heaven. (You once let slip that you helped in the Creation of the Universe, and I can only assume you were one of God’s Most Trusted before the Fall.) You are confident, and wise, and wily and ingenious. You are charming, and insightful, and amusing.

You are _all these things, _Crowley, and so much more - but an _idiot _is not one of them!

I had thought that a demon possessing Holy Water was the most dangerous thing I could ever imagine, but here you test the limits of my imagination yet again. A proper heist, in a proper church! (Some even say you intend to rob a cathedral – a _cathedral!) _

Is this what you want, Crowley? You say you want Holy Water merely as an insurance, “in the case that all of this goes pear-shaped”, and yet you do the _one thing that could draw direct ire from the Heavens above, _and that is to _desecrate the House of God! _

Do you really think they’d let you leave with Holy Water? Do you think they’d just let you slip in and take it? What if someone like Michael or Uriel or _anyone _sees you? You’ve told me to be inconspicuous, told me to hide away, told me to hole up until the storm passes over. And yet here you are, sending a terrible flare to the Heavens above as if to say, “Here I am, the demon Crowley, and I intend to die either by your hands or this water’s!” 

The only thing I could do to stop yourself from _actively _killing yourself is… to play your game. To give you _exactly _what you wanted. And that meant throwing caution to the wind, risking everything that I never wanted to be at risk in the very first place. It didn’t just mean knowingly step into one of the many grey spaces that we’ve created and operated in.

No, I must… I must close myself, walk, and fall blindly. To trust the ineffable. 

(Something I have had a very, _very _hard time doing ever since I met you in the Garden.)

And so I gave you the thermos, hundreds of years late after your request in St. James. I was too scared to even hand it to you, and I fully expected it to burn you as soon as you touched the container. (I mean, what was thin metal going to do in between polar opposites made from the very same material that stars are made up of?) When you took it, and nothing happened, I nearly slumped in my seat in combined relief and exhaustion.

I’m… I’m so tired. I’m so tired of everything. So tired of thinking, so tired of not knowing… So, so tired of you!

I don’t know what you are thinking! I don’t know where your mind is racing to! You’ve walked the Earth many hundred times over, just as I have! You’ve lived all these years on Earth, as I have! We have shared so many moments in this world, so many wonders, little secrets, thoughts and opinions and everything in between… 

But now, as I write this, it’s… it’s as if you’re so far away. So far out of reach, that even if I call out to you as loud as I can, I doubt its echo would even reach you. I don’t even know who’s ahead or who’s behind, who’s above and who’s below, who’s everywhere and who’s nowhere and who’s somewhere in-between. 

I don’t know how real the space between us is. Sometimes I feel your presence even when you’re off to another town for business, and sometimes I feel that your mind and soul are elsewhere even as you sit across from me, swilling your umpteenth glass of wine. 

You move too fast for me, Crowley. Your mind is racing, so, so fast, and I’m afraid you’d leave me in the dust without you even knowing.

And I’m scared that, no matter how far I walk, no matter how loudly I call your name… I’m scared that I wouldn’t be able to go to you, because the place you’re hurtling towards... it's not built to house lot like ours.

You've always been so single-minded in purpose, and this is what I fear. That you would run to the ends of the earth, chasing the worst end you could possibly imagine for a demon like yourself.

Without a pause, without a glance back, without a second thought.

And it… it scares me. It _scares _me, Crowley.

(Please… don’t go where I can’t follow.) 

**Author's Note:**

> This was such a fun little exercise for me and I had a blast getting into Aziraphale's head, especially trying to look into Crowley's situation. 
> 
> I love both of them so much and I wanna give a good contribution to this fandom and I hope this is a passable start unu Pls leave comments and kudos <3


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